Facades
by jazwriter
Summary: After the failed ousting of Miranda from Runway, Andy submits her resignation. Miranda will not honor it until this story's latest benefit/gala/charity/costume ball is over.
1. Chapter 1

**Façades**

Author: JAZWriter

Pairing: Miranda/Andy

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters named in this story nor am I receiving any type of compensation. If you own the rights and have a problem with free advertising as well as added storylines to your original premise, feel free to contact me.

Why, why, why? This is in response to the 2009 Spookfest Challenge issued on the Janeway/Seven Faction board so blame them, particularly Glo, who asked nicely. This one's for you, Gloriously Tabu!

Special Thanks: To Monk for beta-reading this story. She's the fastest draw on the block with a sharp eye and deadly pen. Haha That said, any mistakes or awkward turns of phrase are completely mine.

Spoiler: This is a slight A/U from the movie version. I am changing the events just a little bit—particularly the part where Andy walks away in Paris, throws the phone in the fountain, and gets a job at the _Mirror _(not much, right?). INSTEAD, after the failed ousting of Miranda from _Runway_, Andy submits her resignation. Miranda will not honor it until this story's latest benefit/gala/charity/costume ball is over. It'll all make more sense soon. Hope you don't mind too much.

Author's Note: This was my first Mirandy fanfic piece, but I think it stands the test of time. It's kind of an oldie but a goodie. Let me know if you were entertained.

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Part 1

One would have thought that after Paris the office would have settled down a bit. Of course, _Runway_ never stopped—there was always another magazine to produce, another shoot to arrange, another upcoming designer to promote, but that was just the usual chaos. So, _if_ one allowed for such an erroneous thought to enter one's mind, one would be wrong. Quite wrong. Miranda Priestly always had more than enough obligations to share with her subordinates.

Take for instance the Council of Fashion Designers of America's Lifetime Achievement Award she was to receive for her support of and commitment to fashion. Normally, the award ceremony occurred in June, but its board of directors had decided to couple this grand event with a fundraiser for charity.

A Halloween costume ball fundraiser.

It was really quite ridiculous. Absurd even. How could they even imagine Miranda Priestly_, the_ Miranda Priestly, would consent to such a debacle, even for charity? At first she had refused. But they wouldn't take no for an answer. Then the directors were underhanded enough to get Irving involved, damn them. She knew the only reason he agreed was because he was furious with her for daring to trump him at his own little game. Insipid little man. How could he possibly think he could wrest away her livelihood? Everything she had built?

Eventually, she had no choice but to relent. With the event approaching, everyone was on edge. _Runway_ was taking a terrible risk by holding the printing for the October event. The articles and layouts were set, and all the magazine needed was pictures from the benefit itself with captions. If Miranda wore a costume—all right_, when_ she wore the foolish costume—a large chunk of money would be donated to the charity of her choice, or actually to the charity of her _daughters_' choice. And with each person's acquiescence to wear a costume to this most farcical gala, more money would be contributed. All of this was explained in the magazine waiting to go to print, along with information on lymphoma research, interviews connected to the award, and most markedly an in-depth interview with Miranda herself. That could have gone much worse. It just went to show how useful the death glare truly was.

Once the decision was made, Miranda embraced it in the way she approached everything. Wholeheartedly. She chose to have John Galliano, the designer for Christian Dior, create the most astounding piece of artistry imaginable. At her children's behest, her chosen outfit for the night would be the White Witch from _The Chronicles of Narnia_. It was they who had convinced her to wear a costume at all. Poor, idiotic Irving, thinking he could force her do anything she did not wish. Really, how droll. But let the stupid man believe what he would. She knew the truth.

She had a complementary costume made for Andrea as well since she would be required to attend in her capacity as assistant. Certainly not in any other capacity. Not as a date. How ludicrous. No one would ever believe that Andrea was a worthy companion for Miranda Priestly. Certainly not Miranda. And especially not Andrea. It was laughable—that's what it was.

As if to point out that truth, Andrea's costume represented Queen Susan the Gentle—the nemesis to the White Witch. With her long, dark hair and tender heart, she was perfect for such a role. Add to that the well-hidden fact that her gentle disposition hid a strength of character nearly unheard of in this industry, and was it any wonder Andrea's arrows had pierced the Snow Queen's previously frozen heart? As in the Narnia books where Queen Susan proved her mastery of archery, so Andrea demonstrated her effortless ability to defeat Miranda in the most terrifying, effective way. And the rub was that Andrea remained clueless. It was all so preposterous, so hopeless. Consequently, as a salute and sardonic nod to the way life had played out thus far, Miranda had chosen the outfits without explanation.

Miranda tried extremely hard to not think about her soon to be ex-assistant. Yet in her weaker moments, moments when her mind was not focused on the magazine, or her children, or the impending divorce with Stephen, then she found herself dwelling on the inescapable fact that Andrea had tendered her notice of resignation. She was leaving.

And even though Miranda had been able to delay the inevitable demise of her adequate assistant until after this insufferable masquerade benefit had concluded, that had only delayed Andrea's departure for a short span of time. The pressing question she had but which she dared not ask was why? Why was Andrea leaving her? Surely not for the events in Paris! The editor made it her life's policy to never speculate. It was a waste of effort to guess people's motives, after all. But then she was normally the one who manipulated events, who controlled every move people in her world made. She maintained the power and ruled like a true despot.

Evidently, she had no hold on Andrea. Miranda acknowledged, if only to herself, that she would miss the brunette. Oh, she'd be the first to admit to her ceaseless amusement at scaring her young assistant when she was first hired, but as time progressed and as the fetching lady's steely resolve became apparent, Miranda couldn't help liking the girl, even admiring her willingness to take every snipe Miranda rendered with a ready smile. It was incredibly compelling.

This benefit, then, was the last hurrah. The last time she would have Andrea to herself. And she damn well was going to look ravishing in this girl's presence. She would give her someone to remember. Miranda wasn't above indulging in her selfish desire to dress Andrea up, either. As for those imprudent fantasies where she would find Andrea in her arms by night's end, well it was all rather pretentious, wasn't it? As if Andrea thought of her in that way.

"Andrea." Watching the coffee-colored eyes connect with hers before darting away, Miranda felt the all-too-familiar jolt of arousal wash over her. Tamping down her attraction viciously, her lip curled before barking, "Is there a reason you haven't bothered to attend one fitting for the costume you will wear tomorrow evening? Did you just suppose it would remarkably fit over those curves without any help? I have no intention of being embarrassed by your lack of thought. Call John's assistant and have both costumes couriered over immediately. That's all."

Miranda watched gleefully as shock crawled a crooked path over Andrea's visage. She really was too easy to tease. Andrea had no idea she would be dressing for the event until now. Miranda couldn't wait to see her in the outfit. To observe Andrea's reaction when Miranda revealed hers.

Taking off her spectacles, Miranda gazed through the front office window as she tapped the temple arm gently against her bottom lip. Yes, Andrea was attractive. With her luscious chocolate hair and depthless eyes, it was a wonder the formidable editor had held out for so long before finally admitting to herself that she was attracted to this insufferably naïve, sweet, gentle, hardly out-of-her-teens girl. Honestly. This would be humorous if it weren't so utterly mortifying. Next she'd be throwing herself at the girl—a first for her.

The damnable truth was, she was contemplating just that. Not in some vulgar way, of course, but through an offer of contact once Andrea had left her direct employ. And then there were Andrea's plans for future work. Miranda had ideas about that, too. She intended to discuss them with Andrea tomorrow. Yes, much would be revealed tomorrow. There was simply no help for it.

An hour later Miranda called Andrea into her office, relishing in the utter wonder and approval she read in her nubile assistant's striking eyes. And was that a strain of hunger shining from dark eyes, too? She wished to see it and so decided not to question it further. "Try your outfit on behind the screen and come out so we can look at you."

Andrea looked around as though realizing they were not alone. Nigel leaned against a small table studying Miranda and Andrea closely. That simply would not do. If anyone were to divine her feelings, it should be Andrea first. Looking back to Nigel, Miranda began to dictate her demands for the upcoming fashion spread. He got the message and obsequiously concentrated on every word thrown at him.

Hearing the soft swish of a dress, Miranda redirected her gaze toward Andrea and froze. She felt her eyes widen without permission as her heart palpitated wildly. Splendid. Simply divine. Breathtaking.

The Princess lines of the dress emphasized Andrea's figure perfectly. The colors, warm greens and golds, accented the richness of Andrea's hair and eyes while contrasting with her slightly tanned complexion. The décolletage coupled with the fitted bodice accentuated Andrea's attributes quite beautifully. The fabric was thick and luxurious, tempting Miranda to run her hand down Andrea's back. Miranda felt herself blushing and quickly turned away, flicking her wrist and saying, "Adequate."

Nigel circled Andrea before pronouncing that no alterations were necessary. Miranda steadfastly refused to raise her eyes from her desk, continuing her previous list of instructions in the hope of containing her emotions while Andrea removed the dress and left the office silently. Still not deigning to look up, Miranda quietly ended the barrage with her signature words, "That's all," no doubt to a much-relieved Nigel.

Finally sitting back in her chair, the editor instructed herself sternly to not even dare think about the way Andrea had looked in that outfit. Swooning over an assistant, how outrageous. Lord knew Miranda saw girls in states of undress every day—had done so for the last twenty years. Yet none had ever turned her head or made her pause. Then this perky girl had shown up and turned her world inside-out. Insane.

Sighing softly, Miranda rose to take off her costume. It was stunning, particularly on her. So it should be. She had worked closely with John to create it, much as she had with Andrea's costume. It fit her like a glove with silver and blues shimmering throughout the weave—it nearly looked like chainmail, so intricate was the design. The off-the-shoulder décolletage accented her collar bones and upper chest handsomely as did the startling silver mink fur stole that wrapped around her shoulders. The gown reached the floor even with her four-inch heels, moving gracefully around her as she crossed the office.

Miranda determined to get as much work done as possible before tomorrow evening's event, knowing she would not be able to concentrate on anything except Andrea's imminent departure once the benefit ended. Although she was prepared to reveal her heart, at least to a small extent, Miranda did not hold much hope that Andrea would want anything to do with her once she had completed her last days of employment. With that in mind, Miranda decided she would give herself the day after the gala to mourn her heart's loss before she allowed work once again to take precedence over shattered dreams and impossible fantasies.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The formatting is a bit wanky, so try to ignore it. Thanks!

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Part 2

_How did this happen?_ Andy was at a loss. When everything had fallen down around her ears in Paris, Andy's immediate reaction was to run away. She felt disillusioned and worse, disappointed. Andy truly thought she'd begun to understand Miranda. Sure, she was a difficult taskmaster, but Andrea wasn't irrational enough to believe it wasn't necessary. People tried to get close to Miranda all the time—Andy had witnessed the pandering, simpering masses again and again. So, Miranda had erected strong walls to protect herself. She wore façades, not allowing people to know her true feelings.

But she thought Miranda actually had feelings. That assumption had cost her while in Paris.

She had come close to walking away the day Miranda had firmly ground her heel on Irv's plans to oust her from _Runway_. Very close. Yet, the thought of walking away without notice seemed unconscionable. Andy had such a strong work ethic that she simply could not yield to her desire to get as far away from Miranda as quickly as possible. For that reason she had stayed with Miranda in Paris.

As soon as they returned, though, Andy had given her notice. She'd thought long and hard about making this move. She worried Miranda would destroy any chance Andy might have for a writing career once she left the magazine, particularly after seeing just how gleefully Miranda had destroyed Nigel's dreams, all under the purview of business.

In spite of her career concerns, Andy couldn't stomach remaining at _Runway_. It hurt too much. Andy firmly instructed herself that the hurt magnified by her growing personal attraction to her powerful boss wasn't even a factor, nor did it compound her desire to crawl away and lick her wounds in some dark corner. She wouldn't give Miranda the satisfaction of seeing how much Andy was struggling with keeping her emotions under control.

In fact, Andy chose to steer clear of the maelstrom of emotions Miranda inspired, forcefully pulling her thoughts away from anything that hinted at how much she was going to miss Miranda's voice, or her beautiful shape, or laser-like gaze. There would be time to fall apart in two days when she no longer worked for Miranda. And if she cried just as much for a broken heart as she did in relief that she would no longer be subject to Miranda's cutting remarks, so be it. She would deal with her emotions later. Right now she needed to concentrate on making it through the benefit.

As Andy rode across town to pick up skirts for next week's shoot, she couldn't help but wonder why Miranda had requested a costume be created for her. It was beautiful, emphasizing her form and coloring perfectly. Andy smiled wistfully as she remembered the look on Miranda's face when she saw Andy in it. The astonishment, the certainty, and the desire. Andy wished she knew what Miranda had been thinking in that moment. She knew what she wanted, but Miranda would never feel that way.

Even the archery set created to supplement the costume was magnificent. The shaft of the arrows was silver, matching the main coloring on Miranda's gown, while the points were a honeyed color, much like the piping throughout Andy's dress. The fletching was sapphire blue and forest green, reflections of the weaving on Miranda's costume and the main coloring on Andy's dress respectively. Andy couldn't help wondering whether that was intentional. Of course it was. Miranda never left anything to chance. The bow, a magnificent golden limb with a silver string, sported jewels on the tips: the upper tip, emerald while the bottom tip, cerulean. The quiver was gorgeous, an interweaving of all those colors enmeshed on a deep, velvety cloth overlaid on the softest, honey-colored leather she'd ever seen. A thick leather swath with blue and gold interweaved down its middle strapped the quiver to her body perfectly. The design spoke of a union, a unity she dreamed of sharing with Miranda. Andy felt her chest clench.

Tomorrow would be a full day. Andy had to tie up any loose ends before the gala. Although she would be working the following day, she was using that last day to create some lists to help the next unfortunate assistant, Jane, and to clean out her desk. She suspected that day would be rather anticlimactic, particularly since no one would be in the office. That suited her just fine; she'd rather not have an audience. Andy was wise enough to know her emotions would be on the knife's edge. She'd be rather useless. So, no more thoughts about how much she wanted to get closer to Miranda even as she took steps to get as far away from her as possible. No more reading into any possible messages transmitted through the costumes. No more. She had a job to do, and she'd damn well do her best.

It did confuse her, though, just how accepting Miranda had been about her leaving. She had thought for sure that Miranda would just fire her when she had tendered her resignation. Instead, the elegant editor had delivered an unreadable look and said, "Find your replacement and train her. That's all."

Then Miranda had risen from her desk and entered her personal restroom. Neither had approached the subject thereafter. What had she expected, after all? Miranda didn't need anyone. She certainly didn't reward loyalty or competence, unless letting those people keep their jobs counted. And here Andrea was displaying disloyalty and incompetence by daring to quit. No, Andy was sure that she was no different from the revolving door of assistants that Miranda inspired. And if Andy's breast felt a bit heavier with this thought, she dismissed it as madness.

Several hours later Andy dragged herself through her apartment door and fell on her couch. She felt numb. Tomorrow was the last day Miranda would grace her with her indomitable presence. In a gorgeous costume, no less. Andy had no idea how she was supposed to focus on names and faces while being so close to such silky, unblemished skin. Combine that with Miranda's signature perfume, blazing eyes, and perfectly accentuated form and Andy knew she was in for a hellish night. Of course, she had a lot to do before even getting to the ball. Moving slowly from the couch, Andy tore off her clothes, finished her ablutions, and fell into bed. Surprisingly enough she sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The following morning found Andy rushing through the door with Miranda's coffee in record time. Andy was happy to see that her soon-to-be ex-boss was not yet in the office. Looking around Andy noticed the costumes neatly arranged on the side, ready for transport. She would have Jane bring them to the hotel this afternoon since Miranda and Andy would be attending several meetings during the day. God forbid if they kept the outfits in the trunk of the town car. Andy had learned that lesson early when she had committed the same sin with some scarves to be used at an afternoon shoot. Miranda had claimed they smelled of car exhaust and stale cigarettes. Andy had disagreed, but what could she do?

After spreading the newest fashion magazines across Miranda's desk, Andy moved to her own desk to boot up her computer and call forth the schedule. She took a few deep breaths, smoothing her dress nervously. She had chosen her outfit carefully today, hoping to avoid the disapproving glare Miranda had no trouble bestowing upon her. Andy wore a midnight blue silk sheath with matching three-inch high heels. She knew they would be running around and chose the lower heels for that reason. To accent the dress, the young assistant wore a stunning, thick silver necklace with a twisted, ropey design and dangly sapphire earrings encased in silver. She had pulled her hair back into a lazy bun, intending to take better care with its arrangement when she wore the costume tonight. If her outfit mirrored the colors Miranda would be wearing tonight, that was merely a coincidence.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Miranda swept through the office, dropping her coat and purse on Emily's desk (who, still smarting from Andy's replacing her in Paris nearly danced across the office when learning she'd given her notice), dictating her demands as she passed Andy. Just like the day before.

Three hours later found Andy at wit's end. Miranda was on a tear today. No one was safe, and the sharp-tongued editor seemed especially motivated to carve Andy into little pieces. Andy kept plugging away, attempting to ignore the poison-tipped barbs as well she could. Hurrying to deposit a new cup of coffee into Miranda's waiting hand, Andy mentally reviewed her endless list of to-do's. How would she get everything completed? She could feel the panic setting in. But she pretended as best she could that all was well, lalala, no need to worry. God help her.

The only bright spot in her day occurred when Miranda had stopped talking mid-stream. Looking up, Andy was shocked to find Miranda's gaze traveling across her body rather thoroughly. Andy felt heat rush through her as she blushed and returned her eyes to her notes. When timidly raising her gaze again, she was astounded to find Miranda's eyes awash with passion. As if realizing Andy could see her feelings, Miranda's face quickly became blank, and she nodded slightly in approval of Andy's apparel. She then continued to dictate her demands as if she had not interrupted herself. However, that look had stayed with Andy the rest of the day, a balm to her frayed nerves.

Not quite understanding how they had arrived at the hotel so late, how the day had gotten away from her at all, Andy ran ahead to make sure the costumes were in the room. With a sigh of relief, she saw the garment bags hanging in the closet. Andy turned as Miranda breezed through the door and noted that Miranda looked as vibrant as she'd ever seen her. How did she do it?

At Miranda's politely worded request, something along the lines of, "Do you think I can have my costume some time before the night is over, Andrea?" Andy opened the first garment bag and froze. _No. Oh, no-no-no-no, hell no! No fricken way. Not possible._

Andy felt herself swaying in horror. She was going to pass out. She was going to pass out and be glad for it. Because she did not want to be conscious during the next few moments. Not while Miranda saw what she was seeing.

These were not their costumes. These were someone's idea of a sick, demented joke that Andy might have found just the teensiest bit humorous if it weren't her life on the line. But it was.

Andy thunked to the floor.

"Andrea, whatever are you doing on that dirty floor?" That sounded like Miranda, albeit from very far away. Not far enough, though.

_She's going to blame me. She's going to murder me. In two seconds she will notice the costumes and start flaying my skin. Why am I still hearing her? How am I still alive?_ Miranda sounded much closer. A firm hand grasped her upper arm as another surrounded her body and hoisted her up. _Wow, she's strong. Going up!_

Shaking her head to try to clear it, Andy took some deep breaths and tried not to stumble against Miranda. Blinking quickly, she willed herself to see different costumes in front of her. But the nightmare continued. Hesitantly moving her eyes to Miranda, she saw the look of consternation on her boss's visage. Miranda's unintentional embrace tightened as emotion overtook her.

"What the hell are those?"

"My death sentence," Andy muttered as she stepped out of Miranda's grasp. "I don't know how this happened. I had Jane deliver the costumes. There's no feasible way they could have been switched."

Andy was at a loss to explain. She knew Miranda had no choice but to wear a costume tonight. It was to raise money for charity. They had several articles cued up for the next issue based on this event. The entire press corps jostled downstairs awaiting Miranda's grand entrance. And now they were supposed to wear—_these_? Miranda was going to slay her. Slay her and have her body dumped into the Hudson River. And she really couldn't blame her.

Taking the costumes out, Andy laid them on the bed. Well, not as hideous as she'd first feared. But not their costumes, for sure. Not the elegant, one-of-a-kind designer outfits Miranda had created for them. She didn't want to look at Miranda. She didn't want to see the fury in her eyes. Instead she stared at the costumes, feeling a pull at her funny bone.

_This isn't funny!_ She told herself sternly. _Not funny at all. This is how careers are ruined. Lives are lost. Like mine._ Andy tried to hold back the snort. She really did. But it was like a very bad comedy sitcom episode. Extremely bad. Extremely cliché. And _not _funny in the least.

Except it was. She snorted. _I'm getting hysterical._ Her body shook as she tried to hold back the giggles. Tears began to stream down her face. She couldn't do anything but keep her head down as she momentarily lost total control of her body. No longer even trying to restrain herself, Andy laughed for long moments in the otherwise extremely silent room.

The costumes were Mary and a little lamb.

_Oh my God!_ Andrea heard the song's first verse in her head.

_Mary had a little lamb_

_whose fleece was white as snow_

_and everywhere that Mary went_

_the lamb was sure to go._

And the last verse:

_Why does the lamb love Mary so?_

_the eager children cry_

_Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know_

_the teacher did reply._

Wiping away her tears, Andy dared a sideways glance at Miranda. The fury had faded, replaced with a small upturning of her lips and a sparkle in her eyes. Incredible.

"I'll still want to find our costumes, Andrea, but it looks like we have little choice but to don these vastly inferior replacements. I suppose I am Mary and you the innocent lamb." Miranda poked at the costumes as if they were living snakes waiting to pounce.

"Well, uh, yeah. Looks like it. It could be worse—Red Riding Hood and the big, bad wolf, for instance."

"And I would be the big, bad wolf, I suppose?" Miranda replied sarcastically.

"Not necessarily. I might be the wolf in sheep's clothing," Andy joked as she waggled her eyebrows and lifted her arms like claws in front of her. Miranda's eyebrows practically left orbit, propelled so high, so quickly. _Right, stupid joke._

"I believe that is a different nursery rhyme," Miranda chided.

_Did Miranda just make a joke? Huh_.

"Right. Um, right." Miranda watched her with a curious gleam in her eyes. "So, I'll just get changed then," Andy stated as she scooped up her lamb outfit and fled the room.

_Yes I am the little lamb_. _And I love her so._


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

Miranda covered her eyes briefly, wondering how this had occurred. Well, there was simply no help for it. They had to be downstairs in ten minutes, and she'd be damned before this small blip caused her to miss her own award ceremony. Nor would she disappoint her children by not dressing in a costume. These costumes may be embarrassing, but at least she wasn't alone in this monstrous turn of events. Andrea would be trailing behind her like the little lamb she was to portray. At least for tonight. And as soon as this debacle concluded, Miranda intended to have a very long talk with her wayward assistant. She was determined to find a way to remain in Andrea's life, and she had quite the arsenal prepared.

Miranda's gaze returned to the costume as she smiled grimly. Time to suit up. Her grin stretched and became more natural as she thought of Andrea's reaction. Honestly, her laugh sounded like wind chimes, so sweet and musical. And her youthful face, how it had lit up as she had given into the moment. Magical.

Shaking her head, the white-haired lady quickly changed into the costume. Ruffles and lace. Soft pink material. Lots of pink. Ruffled leggings and flat, shiny shoes. A matching bow for the hair. And a small clutch fashioned as a lamb. Wonderful. It was tempting to replace the shoes with her four-inch Prada heels, but that would have looked silly. Okay, sillier. Miranda sighed, feeling a headache beginning to gather behind her eyes. This simply would not do. She would not be defeated by this juvenile attempt to derail her.

Turning around as she heard Andrea's return, Miranda gasped. Then smiled, quite amused. "You might become hot in that get-up," she observed.

Miranda took a moment to rake her eyes over the tableau before her. Real lamb's wool covered the back and sides of the costume, while the front was the same material and color as Miranda's dress. The pink brought out the brightness in Andrea's eyes. It was quite becoming. The costume was obviously fashioned for a woman's figure, adding a slightly sensual aspect to the purity theme. It was an intriguing combination and worked quite well for Andrea. The shoes were attached to the outfit—fuzzy, white pumps with little bows that were miniature versions of the bow now gracing Miranda's coiffure. And was that a little bell around her neck? Miranda smirked. A hood hung off the girl's neck, obviously fashioned to be the lamb's head with two ears, and, yes, another bow.

_Good Lord, how adorable._

When her eyes connected with Andrea's, she could not hold back the bark of laughter. Her young assistant joined in as she shook her head. "Aren't we a pair?" Andrea gasped as she tried to regain control of herself.

"I would have preferred the original costumes for that," Miranda replied as she picked up her lamb's purse and turned toward the door. Without looking back she said, "It's time."

"Two paces behind you, Mary," Andrea answered cheekily.

"Indeed."

You could have heard a pin drop when they entered the room. Miranda was used to conversations dropping away as she made her entrance, but this time she was a bit anxious. Not that she would have ever reflected in her face or demeanor such insecurities; that would be showing weakness. No, someone had deliberately switched the costumes to prove a point. To fluster her. To steal away her moment of triumph. But it wouldn't work. Because whoever had committed this grievously miscalculated act had not thought it through. Miranda would find out who had pulled this prank, and that person would pay.

So she swept into the room as if she were wearing the fanciest designer gown created and proceeded to act like she had meant to wear the childish ensemble. Although no one had the gumption to inquire as to her choice of outfit, that did not stop them from surreptitiously gazing at it or discussing it once they'd moved away—as if Miranda couldn't hear their noisy jaws snapping excitedly. Yet it didn't bother her half as much as she had anticipated. Andrea stood behind her right shoulder the entire time, reassuring her with a steady stream of information that kept Miranda comfortable while conversing with each person who dared approach her. And so the night passed.

Once at the podium receiving the lifetime achievement award, Miranda chose to make light of their costumes with a small joke. She figured half the people would fall down in shock, hopefully including whoever had placed her in this situation. After the introductory remarks, Miranda paused and looked around.

Seeing one person in particular, she narrowed her eyes. Christian Thompson. _What the hell is he doing here? How dare he think he can show his face after Paris._ He was looking quite pleased with himself. Perhaps a bit too pleased. She would deal with him later.

"I contemplated wearing the lamb costume, but I feared it would not be quite as believable." Watching the audience burst into loud guffaws brought a small quirk to her lips. The air in the room changed as if someone had opened up massive windows, allowing fresh air to stream through the crowd. When she looked around she saw many smiles directed her way as well as grudging respect. Much better. Her speech flowed effortlessly, ending to thunderous applause and a touching ovation. It even looked like a few were sincere in their admiration.

After the speeches were finished, Miranda urged Andrea to mingle and indulge in libations for twenty minutes. Miranda needed the time to think through how she would direct the remainder of the night. She felt disgruntled that Andrea would have this party and worse these costumes as her last remembrance of their time together. Well, at least they had shared laughter, a moment most could neither imagine nor claim.

Finishing her conversation with the CEO of _Elle_, Miranda allowed her eyes to sweep the room and found Andrea cornered by that pretty-boy, Christian Thompson. Miranda snarled. Although her first inclination was to barrel forward and destroy him, Miranda controlled her ire. Instead she stealthily moved closer. Most believed she could not go anywhere without being noticed. This was not strictly true. She usually wished to be noticed, so she was. Now, however, she desired to hear their conversation without indicating her presence. Leaning against a wall and obscured by a potted plant, Miranda listened to the unfolding drama with interest.

"Hey, Miranda-girl." Andrea turned toward the voice, eyes widening.

"Hello, Christian," Andrea replied quietly.

"I hear you're leaving _Runway_. She's actually letting you go? I'm surprised she didn't kick you to the curb when you gave your notice." The intolerable man smiled as he continued his smarmy dialogue.

"I…what do you want, Christian?" Andrea responded, her back stiffening noticeably.

"Aw, Andy's growing up. Okay, no small talk. I was hoping we could pick up where we left off in Paris."

_That insufferable bastard! I'll rip him apart._ Miranda began to move toward them, stopping when she noticed Andrea's outrage.

"You cannot be serious! You attempted to stage a coup against Miranda to help oust her from _Runway_. Why would I want anything to do with you?" Andrea seemed to become taller, larger, fed by her anger.

It was stimulating. Miranda watched, fascinated.

"You're such a good girl, Andy. So pure and naïve. You make such a good little lamb following Miranda around so meekly. Except I know you aren't always so pure or meek."

Christian's lascivious look caused Miranda's blood to boil. _The nerve! How dare he?_

Sidling closer to Andrea, the bug continued, his voice oozing what he probably thought was sex appeal but which nauseated Miranda. "I remember what a hell cat you were in bed. We were so good together." Smirking he continued, oblivious to the indignation emanating from Andrea. "How did you like this little joke, hmmm? Only you could pull off making this costume look so chaste and sexy. Like a bad girl clothed in a school uniform. Think of me as the teacher who wants to keep you after school." His eyes made a pointed circuit over her body as Andrea shook with fury.

_Good Lord! What an abominable boor._ Miranda determined to run him out of New York. He would never recover from this ill-formulated prank. Never. Nor would he ever touch Andrea again. As Miranda began her approach, she heard Andrea speak.

"You did this? _You did this?_ Did you think this would hurt her in some way? Are you entirely dim-witted? And did you think this would convince me to give you another chance? You're crazy!" Andrea leaned forward menacingly, baring her teeth.

_Maybe she is the wolf, after all. A very enticing one._

Miranda joined Andrea and placed a hand possessively on the small of her beautiful assistant's back. She gazed deeply into Andrea's eyes, attempting to instill a sense of calmness to the bristling young lady. Turning to the odious man, she uttered in a disinterested tone of voice, "You have your answer, Christian. She doesn't want you, nor will you ever have the chance to touch her again. How sad for you. How sad that you wasted such an opportunity. You'll certainly never experience someone like her again. And I think you know just how much that truth will continue to bother you. But then, you know all about botched opportunities, don't you?"

"You bitch! At least I had her. You'll never know what it feels like to taste her skin and touch her body as she bucks wildly against you." Miranda heard a gasp slip through Andrea's lips as Miranda sought to control her rage. She shook with the effort. "You frigid old bag," he continued to goad. "You may run me out of town, but the fact that I fucked your lowly assistant will always be a knife in your side."

Miranda took a breath before beginning in a low, measured voice. "If I were ever blessed enough to hold Andrea in my arms, I assure you she would never leave them again for two simple reasons: one, I would make sure with my every action that she understood how much I cherish her, and two, I would make it my life's mission to make her happy."

Miranda stared hard at Christian, wishing she could strike him dead and be done with it. He stepped back as if reading her thoughts. Miranda continued in a quiet, vehement voice. "The difference between you and me in this regard, dear Christian, is I am more concerned with Andrea's emotions rather than my own. As you have proven time and again, you are merely a petulant child intent on doing whatever makes you feel good without regard for how you hurt others. Your antics may not affect me in the least, but they have hurt Andrea. For that I shall neither forgive you nor show you any respite. Ever." She could not restrain the passion-laced words, barely preserving her composure while talking to this vile creature.

Dismissing the loathsome excuse for a human being from her thoughts, Miranda moved her body to block him from Andrea. Seeing how shocked she looked, Miranda felt something loosen in her chest. The editor murmured, "Are you ready, Andrea?" At her nod, Miranda placed her hand on the young woman's elbow and guided her from the hall. Miranda walked quickly, concerned she would do something rash like throttle that detestable slug if she did not reach the relative safety of the hotel suite soon.

Once in the room, Miranda crossed to an ice bucket that contained a bottle of champagne and focused on opening it. She was trying to release her ire so she could talk to Andrea with some modicum of control.

"Are you angry with me?" Miranda heard the timid question and swung around.

"Angry with you? Why would I be angry with you, Andrea? That wretched buffoon had the gall to execute this disastrous costume caper on our last day together and then make a pass at you, and you wonder whether I am angry with _you_?"

Miranda steamed at his unmitigated gall, at a loss as to how to explain this build up of fury. She poured the champagne into two glasses and crossed to Andrea, shoving one forward. "Drink this." Andrea seemed frozen to the spot, lines of confusion apparent on her forehead. Miranda sighed. This wasn't going well. "Andrea," she repeated gently. Seeing the young lady start, Miranda held a flute toward her again. This time Andrea accepted it.

Needing some distance, the editor crossed to the bank of windows overlooking the city. She was desperately trying to calm down. Talking to Andrea about the future, a future she hoped to share in some capacity with the lovely girl, could not happen while she was this agitated. Taking some deep breaths, Miranda sipped the champagne and tried to determine the best way to deal with the day's fallout. A hand lightly fell on her shoulder, causing her to turn back to Andrea.

"Miranda, did you mean what you said to Christian?"

Miranda sniffed. She could see the impatient girl was not going to allow her to direct the conversation. Needing a little more time before revealing her feelings, Miranda stalled.

"I am not in the habit of lying, Andrea. In fact, I believe my reputation is built on the premise that I am a bit too honest for others' tastes," Miranda huffed, swallowing the rest of her champagne and crossing the room to refill her glass.

_Good Lord, am I actually running away from this woman? Where is my vaunted confidence, my distain for weakness, my ability to weather any storm?_ Looking over at Andrea with bottle in hand, she girded her loins and rejoined the beautiful girl at the windows. Miranda topped off Andrea's glass and placed the bottle on the sill before gazing into her eyes. _I could get lost in those eyes._

"Before we discuss that, I'd like to offer a proposal of sorts." Miranda decided it was time to show just what she was made of and what she had to offer. She hoped it would be worthy enough to secure Andrea's continued presence in her life.


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

"Andrea what are your career plans once you leave my employment?"

Andy had trouble focusing on the question. She was having trouble focusing on anything other than the fact that downstairs Miranda had admitted she cherished her. And the editor was angry, really angry, for the way their last day together had turned out. Was she in the twilight zone? Did she fall down a rabbit hole? Lifting her eyes toward the formidable woman, Andrea drank in the vision and couldn't help grinning. _That bow looks ridiculous._ Noticing Miranda cock her head in question, Andy tried to focus on the question just asked.

"I was planning on applying for writing positions, hopefully at a magazine or newspaper."

"Yes. I thought as much. I'd like you to consider writing for _Runway_. Although I would ultimately make the decisions of which articles to include for each issue, you would not work directly under me. Of course, you already know that. I have wanted to move the magazine toward including weightier articles, writings of some import instead of merely fluff pieces, and I am confident you could spearhead such changes. Will you think about it? " Miranda turned her head toward Andy, seeming to study with great interest the emotions the young woman was helpless to hide.

_Why is she offering this? I'm leaving her, and instead of punishing me in some way, she is offering me a job, a great job, that would keep me near her. _"Why are you being so generous to me?" Andy just couldn't believe this turn of events. Actually, the last few days were astonishing. She shook her head, not understanding.

"Is it so surprising that I want you to succeed, Andrea? I can understand that I destroyed your trust in me in Paris. Normally I would not even consider explaining my business decisions, but please believe me when I say that if I could have avoided hurting Nigel, I would have. At any rate, I fully intend to help him find something that will make him happy. He deserves it. And, Andrea, I have already discussed such matters with him."

Miranda gazed at her earnestly, not attempting to hide her turbulent emotions. It was startling to be privy to this side of Miranda and extremely attractive. Suddenly Andy felt the overwhelming need to calm those restless eyes peering at her so intently. "Miranda." Andy meant to say more, but she felt breathless. Feeling an arm slide around her waist, Andy looked back at Miranda.

"You're not going to faint on me again, are you?" This Miranda said caustically, softening the sarcasm with a small smile.

Shaking her head no, Andy began to tremble as the heat from Miranda's hand seeped through her side. She could smell Miranda's distinctive perfume, and it made her dizzy. Everything about this mesmerizing woman disrupted her equilibrium. As if from afar she heard her name. "Yes, I'd like to write for _Runway_. Thank you," Andy finally uttered softly. That was really about all she could manage. She gulped the rest of her champagne, reveling in this half-embrace.

"Good. I'm glad that's settled. If you have no objections, you can start next week. Unless you desire some time off first?" At Andy's shake of the head, Miranda hummed her approval. "Very well. Let us talk about that other matter, then."

Miranda led Andy over to the chaise lounge and gently disengaged. Andy felt bereft at the loss. Emotions flitted across the beautiful fashion editor's face, alerting Andy that she had seen the young writer's reaction. As if in reward, Miranda sat closely next to Andy, so close she could feel Miranda's leg pressed against hers.

Looking attentively into Andy's eyes, Miranda continued, "It seems that foolish man tipped my hand a bit more than I had anticipated. I can't very well deny what I so plainly stated downstairs, so let me be blunt." Miranda looked down at the carpet before examining Andy's face. She continued in a soft voice, a determined gleam in her bright blue eyes as she took Andy's hand.

"I want to spend time with you, Andrea. The thought of not having you in my life is quite distressing. Perhaps I am a pathetic, love-sick woman, but I cannot help how I feel. Believe me when I say I fought myself on this for a very long time. And the truth is I would have continued to hide behind my façade, that well-designed mask I present to the world, for quite a bit longer if I had that luxury. But I don't. Circumstances have forced me to face my feelings. And now I am asking that you permit me to be a part of your life. Friend, lover, whatever you'll allow."

Miranda's touching words washed over Andy forcefully. Could this be happening? She felt Miranda's steady hand clasping hers. As if concerned Andrea did not understand exactly what she was offering, Miranda continued. "Andrea, this is not casual. I have no desire to indulge in some meaningless fling. Please."

Seeing a hint of desperation in Miranda's stare, Andrea took action. Lifting her hand she gently removed the outlandish bow off Miranda's head, slid her fingers through the snowy locks, and leaned forward, intent on giving Miranda an answer she would never forget.

Although she shook with the effort to hold back her desire, Andy forced herself to move slowly. Reverently she allowed their lips to join, moaning at the feeling of completeness that pervaded her.

_This is heaven._ As she continued to deliver devout kisses, she felt Miranda respond with increasing ardor. _She wants me._

It was incredible. Andy felt humbled by the power Miranda willingly turned over to her. It was such a tremendous act of trust. Clearly Miranda had not known whether Andy would accept her affection, but that hadn't stopped her from offering her heart. She had allowed herself to be vulnerable even though she had not been sure of the outcome. Overcome with the immensity of this night, Andy held Miranda closely. She devoted herself to loving this exquisite body, to honoring every gorgeous inch. Pulling away, Andy stood, a promise in her eyes.

"Come with me."

Walking toward the bed, Andy had never felt so desired, so confident, so sure of what they were about to do. She believed Miranda's fervent promises, her vows to make Andy happy.

Miranda allowed Andy to set the pace, her face reflecting such hope and joy that Andy could not help but mirror the editor's impassioned words. She had dreamt of Miranda delivering herself into her tender care, of allowing her to see behind the façade. It was heady. Andy would make sure Miranda never regretted this night.

Gently removing the distinctive costume from Miranda's body, ruffles and all, Andy took her role of lover seriously. Miranda returned the favor by stripping Andy of her outfit efficiently, only pausing to graze Andy's aroused body with light caresses down her sides before pulling her into a full-bodied, scorching kiss.

Andy felt herself beginning to swoon. Miranda lowered her gently onto the bed, her eyes conveying such affection it was hard for Andy to maintain eye contact. Reaching for Miranda, Andy stroked the porcelain skin of her beloved's face, glowing with wonder at the way Miranda touched her. Like gossamer wings kissing ivory skin, so Andy worshipped the body splayed before her.

Taking the time to familiarize herself with every aspect of Miranda's body even as her own shuddered with need, Andy felt enamored even more by the thrilling reactions she received in response to her loving ministrations. Determined to drive Miranda past her ability to control her body's responses, Andy sucked at an amazingly receptive breast as her hand manipulated the other one. Andy moved her hips, tilting her pelvis so their bodies danced in a sinuous rhythm. It was seductive. Addictive. Glorious. Once would never be enough. Nor would a lifetime of such moments. Bracing her arms on either side of Miranda's head, Andy lowered her face so that only inches separated them and fell into such an intense stare she feared she would forget to breathe.

Then she heard Miranda's words flowing over her as they traveled toward that pinnacle, that zenith of light so bright it eclipsed everyone, everything in their lives except the two of them, joined so provocatively. Miranda held Andy's hips firmly against her as she continued her confessions. Such wonderful words, words outlining a life shared, of never being without the other, of a bond never imagined. And as Miranda confessed, "I love you," Andy dropped off the edge, shouting her pleasure even as she heard Miranda reach her own release. While she pulled her sanity about her once more, she felt arms holding her tightly, more murmured words soothing her soul, repairing her spirit, declaring unconditional love. She believed every utterance.

For the rest of the night, Andy attempted to prove just how grateful she felt for this chance to love such a magnificent woman, this woman strong enough to present her heart, to remove the façades, to trust. Andy didn't mind that one night was not enough time to accomplish her self-assigned mission. She intended to keep trying. After all, Miranda expected loyalty and competence, and she was just the person to meet such exacting standards. Andy couldn't help chuckling at her morose thoughts just yesterday when she imagined today would be anticlimactic and lonely. She was never so happy to be proven wrong.

The next morning found Andy smiling at her lover who had just finished a phone call. She wondered whether they would have time for some before-breakfast carnal feasting.

Miranda recognized Andy's desire and lowered her body onto hers, eliciting a loud moan. Just before their lips met, Miranda said, "Our costumes turned up this morning. We can wear them next year." With that pronouncement, the extremely talented editor proceeded to ravish her adoring lover to such distraction that Andy promptly forgot all about costumes, pranks, names, and anything else beyond Miranda's magical touch.

The End.

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed this little tale. As I stated at the beginning, this was my first Mirandy tale. It still makes me smile. I hope it had the same effect on you.


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